


Pride

by Lionswaps (Pyropesy)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, BAMF Keith (Voltron), But also, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Friendships, Elemental Magic, Gen, Hunk (Voltron) is a Good Friend, Hunk (Voltron)-centric, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Keith (Voltron)-centric, Lance (Voltron)-centric, Light Angst, Platonic Relationships, Sick Keith (Voltron), Voltron Gen Mini Bang 2018, voltron lions as real lions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 03:57:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15355698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyropesy/pseuds/Lionswaps
Summary: Lance and Hunk’s home is dying. Something dark is slowly poisoning the land, and a drought holds the savanna in a suffocating grip. Alongside their lion companions, they left their tribe in search of the source of the grim changes their world was undergoing.Instead, they stumble across an unfamiliar tribesman half-drowned in the river; a warrior from the mountains, wearing the symbol of Marmora and carrying a map that claims to lead to the lost city of Altea.But surely Altea was just a myth; a simple fireside story with as much truth to it as the stranger’s delirious ramblings aboutwitches, and aLion Goddess.Little do they know that Altea- more specifically, the powerful secrets hidden at the core of its ruins- could hold the answers they’ve been looking for.Fate was pulling them all, entwined, towards a shared destiny that may save their dying land. But unbeknown to Hunk and Lance, a dark force seeks to unravel the strings. And it has its sights set on one thing; their lions.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution for the [Voltron Gen Mini Bang 2018](https://voltrongenminibang.tumblr.com/). I did not mean for this to get as long as it did, which seems to be the norm for me. Oops?  
> A very grateful shoutout to my wonderful artist partner for this event, the incredible [Lidoshka](https://lidoshka.tumblr.com/). Go check out her art!! It's beautiful!! [Here is a link to all the lovely pieces she illustrated for this story.](http://lidoshka.tumblr.com/post/176045829475/pride-by-lionswaps-ao3-link-here-lance-really) Have you ever seen such gorgeous lions, I think NOT.  
> Without further ado, here is what all my mental energy has gone towards for the past 4 months. Enjoy!!

 

 

The day Hunk and Lance had found the stranger, it was hot and dry. Which, the preceding months of drought considered, was hardly a remarkable thing; the dry season was dragging on far past its time, leaving the savanna stranded in a monotony of stifling heat that fell just past bearable.

The river was low, a widened trench of sluggish water and unearthed sandbanks where seasons ago it was full to the brim and fast-flowing. Despite spring having well and truly started, they’d not yet seen a drop of the rain that would bring relief to the grasslands.

It made scouting the land gruelling work; even when they could leave most of the actual walking to their four-legged companions, the sun still bore down unyielding on their backs where they sat astride the lions. And yet, they persisted- as they had been doing for almost two months now.

It was Hunk who’d spotted him first over the dip of the river’s edge, riding the larger lion out of the two. A glimpse of a torso and matted dark hair- sprawled unmoving over a sandbank and caked in mud- and he gave a startled yelp, sharply steering Yellow backwards amongst the trees to hide.

Lance was quick to follow him into the sparse foliage that lined the riverbank, drawing his bow from his back and hopping off Blue to point it at the river’s lip. When it became clear that whoever was down there wasn’t about to emerge, he crept forward a meter or so, curiosity drawing him to part the bowing leaves and peek downwards.

“What’s happening?” Hunk shout-whispered from behind him, where he sat atop Yellow holding his spear. “Are they moving?”

Lance felt Blue move closer, warm breath on the back of his neck as she nuzzled a huge furry nose between his shoulder blades. “I can’t tell,” he said, shifting to sling his free arm over Blue’s neck. “I don’t think so.”

He had a clear view of the figure, lying on their stomach with their head turned away from him, and mottled in shadow from the overhanging branches. Their lower half was submerged in the water, dirtied red tunic floating in an awkward, crumpled heap around their legs. 

Lance narrowed his eyes. The closest tribes to the savanna were the Olkari, who typically wore greens and soft browns in shades of the forest they dwelled in, and the Balmeran people of the mountains who for their fabrics preferred muted grays and dusky yellows. Red, though- Lance was familiar with no tribe who wore that colour. The grip around his bow tightened.

“Lance, c’mon- we should get going,” Hunk said, voice wavering with oncoming nerves. “The sun will be setting in like, an hour, and I dunno about you but I do _not_ wanna wind up as shadow-chow.”

Lance scoffed lightly, not taking his eyes away from the figure in the river. Blue nudged him again from behind with a feline grunt, rocking him forward a little. “Like those things could catch Blue, anyway,” he muttered absently.

Hunk made a strangled noise in exasperation. “You don’t know that!” He hissed.

A finger twitched in the sand below; Lance’s eyes narrowed.

Hunk wasn’t wrong- it was dangerous to stay out longer than the daylight lasted, these days. They really shouldn’t be loitering here, especially with the added unknown element of people they didn’t recognise apparently wandering around their territory.

Another twitch of the stranger’s fingers.

 _“Lance,”_ Hunk prompted- it went ignored.

Butting her massive head against him again, Blue rumbled low in her throat. Taking the hint, Lance finally caved.

“I’m gonna take a closer look,” he threw over his shoulder, and carefully started picking his way over the lip of the river and down the incline. His lion gave an appreciative grunt and followed his lead.

“Lance-” came Hunk’s aborted admonishment from amongst the trees, followed by a frustrated noise. A moment later, Lance could hear him and Yellow clambering down after them.

Blue padded ahead as Lance cautiously approached the body, circling around to their other side with splashing feet as her paws sunk in the river water. She bent her massive head down, nudging at the stranger’s shoulder, her ears flicking in curiosity.

Lance’s eyes were drawn to the stranger’s belt, where he could see the hilt of a sheathed knife. Cautiously, he took a step back, readying his bow and pointed it down at the person as Blue used her nose to roll them onto their back.

He paused, brow creasing as he took in the face of the stranger in front of them. Relaxing his weapon, his hands dropped an inch in surprise.

He’d been picturing some dangerous, grizzled intruder in his head. This person was young; a boy, around his and Hunk’s age if he had to guess. Sharp jawline and pointed features, Lance could see flashes of pale white skin underneath the mud streaked on their cheeks. Dark black hair stuck in tangled strings to their face and neck, thick and wild.

He crept a little close and bent down next to the unconscious figure, turning his bow on the side and delivering a sharp poke to their shoulder with one end. Their features twisted, eyebrows scrunching together. Eyelids fluttered for a brief moment, and Lance waited with baited breath and tensed muscles before the boy stilled again.

He felt Hunk hovering behind him, anxiously shifting around. “Lance, you gotta be careful,” he said, voice fretful, appearing to the right in Lance’s peripheral vision. “We have no idea where this guy’s come from.”

Lance acknowledged him with an absent hum. Something on the stranger’s arm had caught his eye, where the red of his sleeve had ridden up- the dark edge of a pointed marking of some kind. Carefully using the end of his bow, he pushed the fabric back further, exposing a toned shoulder adorned with a faded tattoo.

The mark seemed familiar; a thin purple-black outline of a single character, zig-zagging downwards in a slash of sharp curves. Lance gasped as the faint memory registered, recognition coming to him in a flash of fireside stories spun by elders to awed young crowds.

“Woah,” Lance breathed, heart pounding and a buzz of excitement-fear-wonderment under his skin. The forefront of his mind burned with the echo of a vision; of the symbol on this stranger’s arm being slashed into the dirt by a storyteller with wild eyes as he wove vivid tales of battle-hardened warriors, with courage like fire and hearts of ice.

“Hunk,” Lance said, “I think he’s from Marmora.”

Hunk immediately retreated a few paces, sputtering. “Uh, you mean those super scary fighters from the mountains?” his voice wavered. No doubt he was also recalling the stories they were told, of the fierce tribe whose fables were coated with bloodshed and mystery.

In truth, they didn’t know how much of the violent legends were true; enough so to gain the Marmora a reputation as warriors, but more than anything they seemed to value secrecy. They were hidden amongst the freezing peaks and crevices of the mountains, invisible and scarcely making themselves known.

So, what was one doing this far away from home?

The thought occurred to Hunk, too. “The mountains are days away,” he said. “Like, a _lot_ of days. How did he end up all the way out here?”

Lance poked the guy in the shoulder again, a little harder this time. The boy roused slightly, a quiet groan of pain rising strangled from his throat. A hand twitched in a spasming movement towards his side- Lance’s attention was drawn towards the area, just underneath the ribcage.

The fabric of the boy’s tunic was punctured with holes, the edges jagged and ripped. The skin just visible underneath was red and angry, and Lance felt an unsettling clench in his stomach as he caught a glimpse of blood. Something had _seriously_ gotten its teeth into this guy.

“I don’t know,” he replied to Hunk, staring with growing unease at the wounded area. “But I think he’s hurt.”

And he had a feeling he also knew exactly what had caused that bite.

“What?!” Hunk exclaimed, and suddenly he was rushing forwards again. “Why didn’t you say that sooner? Scoot over.”

Stunned, Lance stood up and let Hunk take his place by the boy’s side. He glanced nervously at the sky, the need to start heading back to the camp pressing at his nerves. Walking around the scene, he went to stand near Blue, who had been patiently watching things unfold with keen interest.

Hunk repositioned himself behind the stranger’s head, and hooked his arms gently around their torso to drag him fully out of the water and onto the sandbank. Yellow trailed after them, sniffing curiously at the stranger.

When she got to his injured side, she jolted back with flattened ears, a thin whine pulled from her throat. Lance and Hunk shared a brief look, thoughts grim with understanding. Lance once again gave the sky an anxious glance.

Hunk shifted closer to the boy’s side and leant over him with concern in his eyes. One large hand had slipped underneath their head in a careful cradle, while the other patted gently at the boy’s cheek. “Hey,” Hunk urged softly. “Hey, c’mon dude, wake up.”

Lance sighed, exasperated. Hunk’s heart was too soft. You could feed him all the violent tales about mysterious mountain warriors that you wanted, but none of it meant anything if he was face to face with someone who needed help.

Then again, the lions didn’t seem that worried. Blue was as calm as anything, keeping a watchful eye on the stranger with her tail flicking about curiously. And Yellow had come forward again at Hunk’s side, giving the stranger’s legs small nudges of encouragement with her muzzle.

It seemed to work; the boy stirred as Hunk gave his cheek another pat, groaning. Slowly, eyes opened into lidded slits, blinking heavy and dazed at the face above them.

Thin lips moved faintly, a feeble, rasping sound slipping out in his effort to form words. The noise caught in the boy’s throat, and his face contorted in pain as weak coughs shook through his body.

Hunk made a distressed noise and slipped an arm under his back, pulling him to sit upright and supporting him as he struggled for breath.

 _“Shiro,”_ the stranger managed to force out between shaking breaths. “G-got to-” he was interrupted with another cough.

Lance frowned, and he looked away to scan the area around them, his nerves on-edge. Was ‘Shiro’ someone’s name? Did that mean there was more than one of these guys running around the savanna?

As if they didn’t already have enough to worry about.

“Hey, I don’t know how you got here, but you’re really hurt,” Hunk fretted. “You probably shouldn’t speak, okay?”

The stranger made a distressed noise, something close to a whine. “No, I h-have to find her,” he slurred, voice hoarse. Lance could tell he wasn’t really lucid and clearly wasn’t aware of his surroundings- his eyes were unfocused, eyelids threatening to droop shut again, and his arms remained limp and unmoving at his sides “Shiro, he’s…”

His voice trailed off, growing faint. Lance leaned forward a little, trying to make out the words. “What’s he saying?”

“Shh!” Hunk hissed with a concerned frown, not moving his eyes away from the stranger’s face. Another cough scratched its way out of the stranger’s throat, and his eyes began to flutter closed.

With an impatient glance skywards, the fast-approaching sunset on his mind, Lance crouched down and snapped his fingers in front of the guy’s face. “Hey,” he said, voice slightly raised. “Who’s Shiro? What are you doing here?”

Hunk batted his hand away with a chiding look, to which Lance responded by shrugging, dismissive.

The stranger’s eyes finally slid shut again, and his head lolled back on Hunk’s shoulder with a quiet groan.

“I have to find her,” he mumbled, just barely audible.

“Find who?” Hunk prompted, a worried tremor in his tone. He leant down with his ear towards the guy’s head, trying to catch the quiet words.

 _“The Lion Goddess,”_ the stranger breathed, and then went silent- they waited with baited breath for a long moment, but it was soon clear he’d once again slipped into unconsciousness.

Lance stood up, dusting stray dirt off his tunic and putting his bow away. Hands on his hips, he took a deep breath.

“Okay,” he said mildly. “Someone swallowed too much river water.”

Hunk ignored him, adjusting his grip on the stranger so his arms were hooked under the guy’s armpits. “Lance, help me lift him?” Hunk requested, and Lance spluttered uselessly in response.

“What?!” he yelled, voice shrill with shock. Hunk couldn’t be serious. “We’re not bringing this guy back to camp, we don’t even know him!”

Hunk lifted his head to look at him with imploring eyes. “Lance, come on,” he plead, bottom lip trembling just slightly. “He’s hurt!”

Lance made an incredulous noise, throwing his arms out to the sides in a wild gesture. “Yeah, he’s also part of a mysterious angry mountain tribe!” he exclaimed, frustrated. “Do you wanna wake up with a knife in your back?!”

Hunk’s brow creased, jaw tightening. He gave Lance a firm look, his disapproval clear. “He could die if we leave him here,” he said, delivering the blunt truth that pulled Lance up short. “I know you don’t want that.” Hunk waited quietly for the calculated blow to hit, watching with a raised eyebrow as his words drove the reality of the situation in. 

Lance groaned and dropped his arms with a slump. He wiped a hand tiredly over his face and started pacing back and forth on the spot.

 _Damn it,_ he thought. Hunk was right; potential threat or not, there was no way he could just knowingly leave someone to die. The idea was abhorrent.

He stopped pacing, turning to look at the stranger where he was cradled in Hunk’s arms. The guy’s head had rolled listlessly sideways on Hunk’s chest, resting against his friend’s collarbone. Even as he slept. his face was creased in obvious pain.

A weight pushed bodily against Lance’s side, causing him to stumble slightly; he turned to look at Blue, who was staring at him with wide, feline eyes. He didn’t think he was imagining the admonishment in them.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he muttered to her in defeat, bringing a weary hand up to scratch under her chin.

With a heavy sigh, he crossed his arms and turned back to Hunk, who was already wearing a satisfied smile. “Fine,” he relented, bending down stiffly to help hoist the stranger upright; he was dead weight in their arms. “But he’s _not_ riding with me and Blue.”

“That’s fine,” Hunk said brightly, still smiling. (He was always way too smug after winning any kind of disagreement.) “Yellow can carry him. Right, girl?” He turned to look over his shoulder, where Yellow was sniffing at the ground where the guy had been lying.

She perked her head up at being addressed, grunting softly and padding a step closer. Carefully taking the back of the unconscious boy’s shirt between her teeth, Yellow lifted him up gently and turned around, picking her way carefully back across the sandbank and up the incline. It made for an interesting picture- like a lioness carrying her cub by the scruff of their neck. Lance had the bizarre inclination to laugh.

Hefting another sigh at the situation, Lance patted Blue’s flank and waited for her to crouch down. He hoisted himself up onto her back, and together they followed after Hunk, who was walking at his own lion’s side. They clambered back onto the path next to the river, Blue trotting up to walk in line with Yellow and Hunk. Tension still tight in his shoulders and wary of the time they’d wasted, Lance drew his bow and kept it pointed cautiously at their surroundings.

It only made him feel a little better.

Something about this didn’t sit right with him. A burgeoning feeling of apprehension scratching at the back of his mind, burning like the start of something huge, something inevitable- something that was sweeping him and Hunk up in its tangled web of danger.

Soothing his rattled nerves by sinking fingers into Blue’s soft neck fur, he tried to stave off the growing feeling of being thrown helplessly into the fire.

 _Why do I get the feeling this is gonna end in disaster?_ he thought, frowning all the way back to camp.

 

 

*

 

They made it back to the outpost just as the light began to dim. It was a flat dirt clearing on a slight rise, partly bordered by a rocky outcrop. In the centre of the space was the decently-sized firepit they’d built the first night they set up here, and behind it a tent that the two of them shared, with one open side that faced the fire.

Hunk took the stranger from Yellow, gingerly holding them in his arms, and immediately retreated into the tent.

“Need any help?” Lance popped his head in after them just as Hunk was laying the unconscious figure down on his bedroll.

Hunk didn’t even look up, already busying himself searching for their medical supplies. “Nah, I got this,” he shot back, laying out a roll of bandages and some clean cloths. “Can you put a pot on, though? It’ll be better to clean this with warm water.”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” Lance said. He beat a hasty retreat as his friend started pushing up stranger’s torn shirt to expose the ugly wound underneath, secretly glad he didn’t have to deal with any of that gritty stuff.

He got to work on the fire instead, pulling the small tinder box from where he kept it in his pack. He toed a stack of unlit torches out of the way and knelt by the firepit. They’d left it a bit late today; the sun was low in the sky and already casting their campsite in the orange glow of sunset. It was dangerous to be this close to night and without a fire, without light to ward off the things that lurked in the dark.

But Lance had done this a thousand times over, had it mastered from when he was young. Getting a blaze started was simple muscle memory. His father had drilled the skill into him that way- long hours were spent under his stern eye, crouched in front of practice piles of tinder and kindling. Soot-stained hands would tremble with the ache and strain by the time his father was satisfied, knuckles grazed from where he’d slipped while striking with the flint. But by then Lance could practically start a fire with his eyes closed, and keep it burning for hours.

It was an essential skill that everyone from their tribe, both young and old, had to know. His and Hunk’s situation aside, rarely did anyone stray from the camp- but in the chance that they did, then being caught in the dark without means to make a fire? Without knowing how to make it last the night?

That was certain death.

Flint and steel sparked between deft fingers, and sure enough, not ten minutes had passed before Lance had the firepit glowing with the embers of a stirring blaze. Once it seemed steady, he dug through their cooking equipment for a decent-sized pot and did as Hunk had requested, putting some clean water on to boil.

He sat down by the fire, leaning backwards on his hands. Blue prowled up to him from wherever she’d slinked off to, a purr building in her throat as she nuzzled her massive head gently against his shoulder, almost knocking him over. Huffing a laugh, he gave her nose a half-hearted shove, pushing her away.

Blue’s back arched in a languid stretch, her paws extended in front of her. She settled on her stomach, blinking slowly, the reflection of the fire flickered in her black and gold eyes.

An arid breeze scratched against his skin, and Lance licked his lips with a wistful sigh- they stung slightly under the press of his tongue, dry and splitting. He tilted his head upwards, watching the sun slip lower until the world was a dusky purple. It sunk into a lingering twilight, stars powdering the atmosphere above him.    

As the dry season dragged on, Lance’s gaze was often trained longingly on the empty sky- he felt his sun-baked soul mirroring the cracking, desperate earth. Sighing restlessly for downpour like brown grass rustling in parched wind.

The clouds that he did see were too sparse and far too light for them to carry any promise of shower. But sometimes, when he was sitting up high on Blue’s back, he felt like if he just reached out far enough he could skim his fingertips through those stray clouds. Grab fistfuls of them in his hands and shake them until they surrendered the rain.

It was a childish notion, he knew; nothing but wishful thinking.

But he missed the rain like an old friend. It reminded him of a time when things were easier, safer. Blurred memories of his childhood drifted in sheets to his mind, ones that had lost clarity, definition, but hummed with faded echoes of a bittersweet tune; soft, filled with laughter and freedom.

Back before the night was stolen from them, and they’d been forced to hide in the firelight. Before their crops started dying, and their livestock starving. Years and years before Lance had hugged his family goodbye and left them with a solemn promise to fix things, or at least find a reason why the land had turned on them.

Before everything started changing so drastically and Lance forced himself to grow up, he remembered playing in the rain.

When winter had ended, and the wet season came, shaking the sky with thunder and bringing the long-awaited cloudbursts- that had been Lance’s favourite time of year. While his older siblings would screech and run for cover, he would stand wide-eyed under the downpour with his arms thrown out, tilt his head back to catch the rain on his cheeks and _laugh._ Wild and free, the crash of the storm a symphony in his veins.

He’d spend carefree hours playing in the rain, little legs running in circles and yelling joyously at the sky. He’d take running leaps and catapult himself into puddles, drenching his clothes in mud and rainwater, raise his hands up to try and catch the raindrops on his fingertips. All the while wearing a bright, childish grin that didn’t slip off even when he finally retreated back to his family’s tent, soaked to the bone and giggling. His mother would shake her head and scold him, trying to look disapproving as he dripped water everywhere but unable to hide the amusement creasing her eyes.

Lance tended to get away with a lot, being the youngest of four siblings. He’d spend his younger days running wild with Hunk and dragging them into all kinds of mischief, and he never received more than a slap on the wrist and a stern word for the trouble he’d cause. It didn’t matter how big of a puddle he’d make when he came back saturated and muddy, or how often he was caught teasing the tribe’s livestock- making faces at the goats or racing Hunk through their small herd of sheep just to see them scatter, bleating noisily- Lance would never be punished, and his parents would never raise their voices.

So yeah, being the youngest often let him get away with things his older siblings would not. But it also meant that less was expected of him, even as they got older.

His sister was a talented weaver, turning cotton into tents and tunics, blankets and bandages. Whatever needed making, she was able to contribute to the tribe. His oldest brother had quickly become the tribe’s best tracker, and his second-oldest an accomplished spear hunter.

When night fell, the tribe would gather around the fire- even before it became a necessity for survival- and listen to the elders tell stories. Fantastical legends, tales of great heroes and exciting battles, warriors who fought against impossible odds and won- or shrewd, clever heroines who outwitted the bad guys with their unique skills. More than once, Lance listened to his siblings being proudly compared to the heroes of these stories, followed by grandiose accounts of their own talent and achievements.

He burned to have stories told about him, too- but what did he have to offer? He hadn’t any outstanding skills, not like his kin. And no one was pushing him to be more like his siblings, but with such huge footsteps left in the soil before him, what else could he do but feel like he _had_ to follow them? There was a lot to live up to, but he wasn’t a great warrior or hunter, had no talents such as weaving or cookery.

He wasn’t extraordinary; he had always just been Lance.

Still, he burned with the constant urge to prove himself; to show his tribe and family that he could be the hero in those stories just as easily as his siblings.

It was that desperation, that yearning to show everyone he, too, was capable of greatness, that inadvertently led him to Blue.

When he was eight, Lance had decided- completely on his own and without the knowledge of his parents- that he wanted to go hunting. His plan was to take his shabby, self-made bow down to the river and try to catch a water fowl. He’d take it back to camp to show his brother and let him know that he was _just_ as good a hunter as him.

Things didn’t go to plan. It had stormed the night before, and the river had been swift and overflowing. A tree growing along the bank had been uprooted in the virulent winds, torn from the earth and disappearing downstream. It left the soil along the river unstable, and all it had taken was one ignorant misstep before Lance was slipping over and tumbling into the treacherous current.

He had been swept downstream for a good twenty metres, the water rushing around him as he was thrown to and fro like debris. Ordinarily Lance was a good swimmer, but he stood no chance against the strength of the surging river, his sense of up and down yanked viciously away from him by the torrent.

He wasn’t under for long, though- amid his panic, something had taken a hold of the back of his shirt and pulled him upwards. Gasping for breath and fumbling to make sense of things, he flailed in mid-air as he was slowly lowered back down onto the safety of the riverbank.

Something warm and furry nudged at his face as he coughed up painful lungfuls of water, chest burning. When he finally found the strength to open his eyes, he was met with the startling golden irises of a lioness

An impossibly _huge_ lioness- he had yelped and scrambled backwards on shivering limbs. Lance had only been as big as the length of her _face_ back then _,_ and he had been convinced she’d saved him only so she could swallow him whole.

But she didn’t. She just stood there, towering over him, pinning him with a searching look. Patiently waiting for him to react.

Some deeply-buried instinct in the depths of his mind coaxed him into reaching a tentative hand up, held out towards her. When the lioness crouched down on her front paws and nuzzled her head into his outstretched palm, Lance knew with startling certainty that she wouldn’t hurt him.

She had followed him home, and a few days later when it had stormed again, Lance knew he’d found a kindred spirit.

Blue had always loved the rain.

She would twist and pounce in the downpour, water falling in streams from her sleek fur, dripping off her whiskers. He’d run around underneath her dancing paws, and she’d let him chase her in circles through the mud. When she shook her fur out and sprayed water everywhere, he’d laugh wildly and kick his foot through a puddle at her, giving back just as good.

The truth was though, that Lance had never really stopped trying to prove himself. At some point, he stopped playing with her. His duty to his tribe in troubled times called louder than the crash of thunder, and in the harshness of change he turned his back on the playful days of childhood.

But Blue never stopped celebrating the rain, even without him; Lance would watch with fond amusement as she stood up on her hind legs, snapping her jaws at the falling drops and trying to catch them. She’d move like the rain was part of her, and back when he danced by her side, he’d felt like it was part of him, too. The droplets clinging to his skin felt as natural as the breath in his lungs.

Even now, when cascades of water would hit the hard-packed earth, churning the dry ground into mud, and Lance would breathe in the rich smell of wet soil for the first time in months and feel something settle in his chest- an ache, a _longing_ that he’d carried throughout the dry spell, soothed at last. He’d tilt his head back and sigh, that first fall of rain like the sudden exhale of a held breath. Relief.

His thoughts circled back to the current drought, and he felt the ache stirring inside him with burning impatience. Things had certainly changed since he was eight.

He caught a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye, and looked up the rocky outcrop. Yellow was perched on the stack of rocks, tail twitching back and forth, her head raised in attention.

It wasn’t unusual to see her up there; since they’d made camp here, the bigger lion had claimed the spot as her favourite to hang out. Often during the day, she could be spotted lying lazily up there, stretched luxuriously over the sun-warmed rocks.

Right then though, in the unsettling twilight, it looked like she was watching something.

Grimly curious, Lance lit a torch from the pile they kept near the fire. He was pretty sure he knew what he’d see, but it wouldn’t hurt to make sure- especially with the possibility that there were other members of the Marmora running around the savanna. The name _Shiro_ was still playing like a warning in his head.

The rocks were large, and the edges made for easy climbing, even one-handed. He scaled up the outcrop to meet Yellow at the top, idly scratching behind her ear in greeting as he surveyed the darkened grasslands beyond their camp.

At first it all appeared still- a stretch of flat dirt just past the outcrop, which tapered out into endless miles of long grass that swayed slightly in the breeze. Bare acacia trees were interspersed across the landscape, their silhouettes sharp along the horizon. Not a single bird could be seen resting in their skeletal branches, nor any other obvious sign of wildlife.

There was an unnerving quiet, the kind that whispered of danger amidst the rustling of grass and high-pitched drone of cicadas.

Something shifted- Lance snapped his attention towards the movement, a flicker of black by the edge of the tall grass. The moonlight offered little illumination, but it was still enough to distinguish the dark, blurred outline of the shadow as it snaked through the night.

And once he’d caught sight of one, it wasn’t hard to miss the others; A swarm of them, shadows crawling through the grass, slinking where the light didn’t reach. Every now and then, a flash of terrible red would burn through the dark, their soulless eyes flickering about in search of unsuspecting prey.

Not a mountain warrior, then- just the regular kind of danger. The kind his tribe had been plagued with for years now, the shadow’s numbers having increased to the point where the night was no longer traversable.

He felt attention scrape over him, something watching him keenly from the darkness.

A shudder rocked through him, and Lance turned away to return to the fireside. So long as they didn’t leave the camp, they’d be safe. He reminded himself that as he curled up next to Blue, trying not to think of the dangers that crept just beyond the light of the fire.

Things had changed a lot since he was a kid. These days, morning always felt too far away.

 

 

**

 

_Frigid breath at his back, jaws snapping and biting at his heels. His own lungs searing in his chest as feet hit the hardened ground with ceaseless rhythm. With only pale moonlight to guide him, he relied on pure luck that he wouldn’t trip and stumble. They’d be on him in seconds, and it’d be over._

The shadows were close, close, _too close_ to catching up to him- the hideous, writhing whispers of the mass echoed in hisses around him like wind slithering through reeds, stalking him with insidious intent through the night.

He didn’t know where Red was- they’d torn her away from him in their pursuit, the last he’d heard from her a strangled growl, furious and _choked._ Cut short when he was ripped from her back by snarling teeth- when she was swallowed by the swarm. The sound froze his insides over with a sharp grief he had no time to linger on.

He had to keep going.

Faster, faster, he wove and ducked under branches. Stray twigs snagged his cheeks like claws. Only the dull moonlight to aid him, but he couldn’t risk slowing down.

His side screamed with fire- he ran with one palm clasped firmly over the wound. No time to check for blood, no time to stop, the shadows were almost on top of him; sharp teeth and snapping jaws dripping with slick tar, reeking of death.

The phantom pain of teeth echoed under the skin, throbbing with his rapid heartbeat, burning, _burning, Red where are you-_

The hard ground gave way, and his feet skidded on softer earth- the river! If he could just get across-

Scrambling over the lip of the decline, he tried to steady himself. The growling was right behind him, _right beside him,_ ice-cold on his neck and gripping his heart with pounding fear. A feral rumbling by his ear, crawling spider-like over his skin. A snap of its jaw- He jolted violently away, shouting in pain as the movement pulled at the wound.

His footing was lost. He slipped on the sand and started tumbling down the bank, body rolling over itself before he hits the bottom with a splash. He was plunged into a puddle of shallow water, surrounded by sandbanks dug up by drought, coughing and spitting water and wet sand from his mouth. It’s caked on his clothes, sticking to his face, in his eyes he _can’t_ _see, can’t see, where’d they go-_  

They didn’t pause at his fumbling, didn’t give him a chance to regain his bearings. The shadows were upon him in a sudden rush of movement. A single-minded wave of shifting black, converging swiftly downwards- a spearhead of snarling, inky tendrils and _hunger._

Savage scores of lurid red slashed through the tar-black wave, their unearthly eyes laser-focused on dragging him into their depths.

He yelled, scrambling upright in a spray of sand. His movements were too slow, clothes heavy with water and limbs sluggish with adrenaline. With the last of his strength he vaulted his body away, tripping backwards over the sandbank with an ungraceful lurch. The shadows caught on his wrist as he flailed, and he snatched it back with a sharp gasp. Burning cold punched through him, the freezing feeling jolting through his body and instantly numbing the skin where it touched.

Their harsh snarling was the last thing he heard before he hit the moving current, furious that he’d torn himself away from their snare. The noise curled like a vice around his senses, the echo of it ringing in his ears and following him into the river.

His head went under, and he reeled- body spinning in senseless spirals through the weak current, he was batted against the sandbanks and broken tree roots, water rushing through his eardrums. Time became a lost concept, swept away like the bubbles erupting soundless from his gasping mouth. He couldn’t tell up from down and his chest was _screaming, burning like fire- Red, please, I need you, Red, Red,_ Red-

_Shiro._

The world stilled.

Pressure lifted from around him in a sweep of relief so absolute that he was left staggering, gulping down breaths of clear air with eyes pressed shut. He took a moment to catch his breath, the panic ebbing away bit by bit in steady waves of calm.

There was silence; the river was gone, as was the oppressive presence of the shadows at his back. He found himself standing upright, on two feet, painless and dry. Warm. He blinked heavy eyes open, slow and wary, and was blinded by white.

Blinking, he looked around with curious eyes. There was no breeze here, no movement. Just him. He didn’t know where he was, but for the moment, he knew he was safe. He breathed out, the last dredges of adrenaline from the peril he’d been in released from tightly-coiled muscles. A quiet serenity flowed in its place, and he let his senses drift in the ease of nothingness.

There was a subtle tremor of something in the air; an energy, a feeling- not malicious or benevolent. Simply there; a gentle existence like the gleam of sunrise on snow. He paid it little mind, attention drawn absently forward.

Something caught his eye.

There was a city on the horizon. It was a grand-looking thing, with towering white temples of stone and stairs leading upwards for miles into the empty sky. Surrounding it was an untouched body of water, crystal-clear and reflecting the glow of an invisible sun. A perfect sphere of untouched blue.

Grim recognition settled solemn in his chest, and he felt himself tense. He blinked; the city shimmered, edges shifting. Unsure and undefined, like an image through a wave of heat. The silence dragged on.

The city was quiet; still as the grave.

The tremor in the air built into a ringing, folding over itself until it was coalescing into a voice, an echo played in reverse.

 _“Find me,”_ it said. Feminine and toneless, it folded around him, wrapping him in its whispering embrace. A breeze through a mountain pass.

He knew this, had lived this dream over and over. The voice followed him into his waking hours, an incessant urge settled in his core that tugged him forwards, magnetic, towards something unknown. Something important. In recent days, it had grown from a slight breeze to a clinging winter chill he could never shake off.

 _“Find me,”_ it urged, like it always had, a beckoning _something_ waiting in the distant corners of his mind. The answer to a puzzle he’d never had the pieces to, dancing just out of tangibility.

The city flickered, edges wavering.

The echo changed, the voice solidifying, deepening into something familiar and beloved- his heart stuttered with fear, with _hope-_

_“Find her.”_

He snapped his head up, a bolt of desperation stabbing through his chest.

_Shiro._

That had been Shiro’s voice, Shiro who he hadn’t seen in weeks, Shiro who he’d been trying so desperately to find. His heart leapt in his throat, head whipping around in desperate search of the source. Calling out his friend’s name, he listened to it resound in the shattered tranquillity.

 _“Find her,”_ Shiro answered. The echo reverberating from every direction, filling his senses with frantic longing. The ache in his soul resonated with Shiro’s words, burning bright and hot.

“Where are you!?” he called, something close to hysteria colouring his voice with a heated panic. This whisper in the still air, a ghost of the real thing, was the only fragment of his best friend he’d been given in too long. He latched onto it with his entire being, knuckles white by his sides as he spun on the spot. A glimpse, _just a glimpse,_ that’s all he needed, just to see him for a _second-_ he just needed to know Shiro was _okay-_

“Please, Shiro, talk to me!” he called, hoarse.

He was given no answer. There was never anything else here- just the voice, and the spectre of a city. Vague imprints of things that once were. And now, his friend- a whisper, a fragment, a barely-there slither of the Shiro he knew, but he’d _take it,_ if this was all he’s given then he’d _listen, so please_ -

 _“You need to find her,”_ the ghost said. He growled in desperate frustration, hair whipping around his face as he turned furiously around, chasing the fading echoes in helpless circles.

“Find _who?”_ he pleaded, his chest burning, _burning,_ as he snapped back around-

And pulled up short, eyes going wide with a pulse of alarm.

[ ](http://lidoshka.tumblr.com/post/176045829475/pride-by-lionswaps-ao3-link-coming-soon-lance)

The city was gone, and the lake with it. On a stark background of glaring white, he saw unearthly yellow eyes that pierced him to his core. A great white beast lay on its stomach, watching him with a curious flick of an ear. Wild, shining fur bristled in attention as it locked eyes with him, brilliant mane shifting slightly in imitation of a breeze he couldn’t feel.

Fear and awe froze every nerve in his body, and he found himself paralysed to the spot, pinned under the beast’s gaze. It blinked slowly, golden irises narrowing. Sizing him up.

There was a girl standing next to it, her back turned to him. Dark-skinned with hair as ivory-white as her companion, her ears were shaped oddly into delicate points. The creature was easily twice her size, could easily crush her underneath one enormous paw. Yet she remained relaxed, a proud loft to her head and an easiness in her movements as it lowered a massive head to her. He caught a slip of her comfortable smile when she reached up to stroke its nose with two hands.  

“ _Find her,”_ Shiro whispered in his ear, and he shivered as the beast moved its attention to him once more. He felt the heavy weight of expectation fall onto his shoulders, taking a wavering step backwards.

Its lips, speckled with soft gray, pulled back in a cautious growl that revealed animalistic teeth. Deadly. The sound thrummed through him, striking him to the core and reverberating in his skull- there was _power_ in this creature, ancient and immense.

 _“Find her,”_ was repeated to him, and his head felt suddenly cluttered with too much noise. Alerted by her companion’s shift in attention, the girl turned to face him wearing a look of soft shock.

A heartbeat passed. She reached out a curious hand towards him, and he found himself compelled to take it.

_“The Princess.”_

The breath left him in a rush of air, and the scene dissolved in the blink of an eye. Feeling slammed back into him in a dizzying, painful surge.

Keith woke with a shout, bolting upright.

He clutched the blanket with trembling fists- he didn’t remember a blanket, or getting into bed, but the oddity was lost in the jostling of all his racing thoughts- and tried to steady his panicked breathing.

Cold sweat clung to his face, and his heart pounded like a drum against his rib cage. His entire body hurt, head throbbing and his side burning with vicious pain. Thoughts clouded his harried mind like thick smoke, impossible to sift through and choking him with confusion.

The shadows, being hunted across the savannah, the girl, the white lion, Shiro, Red, _Red, Red-_

“Uh,” a hesitant voice interrupted, and Keith startled violently with an undignified screech. He moved for his knife. It wasn’t there. Why wasn’t it there? He always kept it on his belt, _where was his knife-_

Panic seized him as he scrambled backwards on the bed- _Bed? Who’s bed? Not my bed, where am I, where’s Red_ -

He tried to focus his spinning vision on the other person in the room, drawing his knees up to his chest.

It was another boy; warm brown skin, dressed in cheerful yellow. He had his hands held palm-out in front of him in a pacifying gesture, radiating nervous energy. Keith blinked, body tight with tension and ready to run.

“Hi,” the boy said slowly, with a small wave of his hand. “My name’s Hunk.”


	2. Chapter 2

So.

Hunk had an unconscious Marmora warrior lying on his bedroll.

Cool, cool, super cool.

He was trying his very best not to panic and, honestly? Doing a surprisingly admirable job. Ten points for him.

He’d cleaned the guy up as best he could- gotten the mud off the stranger’s face and out of his hair, tended to all the minor little cuts and bruises scattered over his body. His clothes had mostly dried out on the walk back to camp what with the stiff heat, so by the time Lance had come back in with the boiled water, he didn’t resemble a drowned mongoose _quite_ as much. Just a very waterlogged one, maybe.

Hunk left the torn shirt as it was for the moment, wanting to let the poor guy preserve some decency. Once he was awake, maybe one of them could lend him some spare clothes while Hunk washed the red tunic and sewed those gaping tears back up.

That is, if he didn’t try to stab them the moment he opened his eyes

Oh man, Hunk _really_ hoped he hadn’t brought a murderer back to their place.

He’d removed the stranger’s belt and set it aside- after he’d dealt with the guy’s injuries, he’d poke around and see if there weren’t any more concealed weapons on it. Hunk had already confiscated the knife, unclipped the sheath from the belt and stowed the whole thing away. Just in case.

Not before taking a look at it, though. The blade was handsome and well-maintained; symmetrical with sharp, curved sides fashioned from a metal he’d never seen before. Unwrapping the hilt had revealed a dark, lacquered grip and pommel encrusted with a bright purple rune of some sort, the symbol of the fabled Marmora engraved into its surface.

Hunk wasn’t a knife guy, but it was pretty damn cool.

 _And pretty scary,_ he thought, eyes flicking warily to the sleeping stranger’s face.

He was reminded of something his mother had told him long ago;

 _Be kind, be compassionate,_ she would say, stern. _But don’t let it make you a fool._

Ma could be a little harsh, sometimes- but in this instance, Hunk thought it best to take her advice; He’d temporarily stashed the knife away in a super-secret hiding place for safe keeping, somewhere the stranger would never even think to look. There’s no way he would find it until it was given back to him.

(It was in Hunk’s bag.)

Anyway.

Once the water had cooled from hot to warm, he’d gritted his teeth and turned his attention to the wound on the young man’s side. It wasn’t pretty- the torn skin was inflamed and still sluggishly bleeding in places. Thankfully, the bite didn’t seem too deep, but whatever had gotten him had really done a number. Angry red lines streaked around the wound in a spider-web just underneath the skin, and Hunk’s stomach rolled over in a threatening lurch.

A hand pressed to the back of the stranger’s forehead revealed a slight fever, confirming what he’d feared; the bite was already infected. That made things difficult.

He took a deep breath, trying to swallow the anxiety curdling his stomach. He wasn’t going to help anyone by panicking. It would be fine; so long as they kept the wound clean and the fever down, then the guy would recover in no time.

He kept telling himself that as he carefully washed the injury out, trying his best to ignore the way the abused area radiated heat. He gently applied a layer of medicinal cream- though it was usually used for cuts on a much smaller scale, and Hunk seriously doubted it would have much benefit here- and (with some difficulty) lifted their dead weight upright for a moment to start dressing the wound with cotton gauze and bandages.

The stranger remained unresponsive through the entire ordeal- chest rising and falling accompanied by the faintest rasp of their throat, burning forehead pressed against Hunk’s collarbone as he wound the bandages around their torso. Finally, Hunk finished, pulling the stranger’s tunic down and lowering them gently back onto the bedding.

He tugged the thin blanket up and tucked it loosely around the guy’s shoulders, and then leant backwards to lean on his hands, slumping with a heavy exhale.

Man, this was all so weird. He brought a palm up to wipe sweat off his brow, and realised his hands were shaking slightly. Whether from the stress of dealing with such grizzly injuries, or the uncertainty of having a potentially dangerous person currently sleeping in his bed, or all of the above, or perhaps just hunger, Hunk didn’t know.

He shook his hands out irritably, trying to get rid of the tremor. Now that he’d finished with all the practical tasks, he had nothing to occupy them with- that always led to wandering thoughts and skittish nerves, never a good combination. He tapped his fingers in a beat of anxiety on his folded legs, looking around for something to take his mind away from worrying before he drove himself into a panic.

His eyes landed on the stranger’s belt, resting on the floor by his feet. Curious, he picked it up and started poking at it.

If this guy had had a pack or bag with him, it had been lost to the river. There were a few items fastened to various loops on the belt, but there nothing that would have made adequate preparation for a lengthy journey from the mountains. He didn’t know where the stranger was trying to get to, but if this was really all he had with him, he probably wouldn’t have made it far even without the… _animal_ attack.

There was the leather sheath that held his knife, now safely in Hunk’s possession; also a compass, a tinder pouch that had been thoroughly soaked through and was probably now useless, and a long capsule of some sort.

Hunk tapped the compass, and the needle twitched and spun lazily for a moment in a direction that definitely wasn’t north. Broken, then. Or maybe there was something in the landscape around them throwing it off? The rock structures behind the tent, perhaps.

He moved on, unclasping the capsule and turning it over in his hands; it was coloured white, and golden at the ends where it flared out, with an old-looking brass clasp that had attached it to the belt. With a curious hum, he felt around for an opening, figuring it was probably a container for something else.

Sure enough, after a bit of poking around he found that one of the ends could be unscrewed, and there was something sitting inside. With another quick glance at the stranger to make sure he wasn’t about to wake up, Hunk turned the tube upside down and gave it a shake.

A rolled piece of parchment fell out, landing on Hunk’s lap and uncurling slightly. He blinked down at it, setting the capsule aside and carefully taking the paper’s worn edges. It was old, slightly yellowed but well-preserved; not entirely brittle, but caution was probably still wise.

He unravelled it slowly, mindful not to crease the parchment- and sucked in a gasp, eyes widening.

It was a map; a sprawling ink illustration of the land stretching miles and miles in every direction, detailing the enormity of the world far beyond anything Hunk knew of it. A beautifully rendered compass rose was in the top left corner, decorated with swirling designs.

The savanna was sequestered in the small section to the bottom right, the mountains where the stranger had supposedly strayed from even further towards the map’s edge. If Hunk squinted, he could make out a thick line marking the border of his home- the river, a twisting black snake that travelled onwards for miles, past the Olkari forest and sprouting off into thinner offshoots.

Hunk skimmed his eyes briefly over all those details before what was in the dead centre of the parchment caught his eye- it was an illustration of a city’s outline, standing tall with spires and temples lined up as if viewing it on the horizon. Lines of ink dashed outwards from the drawing, as if to show the city illuminated, and just above it was a clear label in swooping, majestic calligraphy;

_Altea._

“Woah,” Hunk breathed, the word drawn out in awe.

It wasn’t exactly a helpful discovery. If anything, it just piled more questions into the swarm already buzzing in Hunk’s head.

So, this Marmoran warrior- who a lot of people would argue didn’t even exist, for how scarce they made themselves- had somehow wandered onto the savanna, carrying a map to the lost city of Altea- which, for the record, _also_ probably not really a thing that existed- and was now passed out on Hunk’s bed.

This guy was an enigma wrapped up in a mystery, apparently.

One he didn’t get another moment to ponder, because the boy’s eyes flung open and he bolted upright with a sudden shout that had Hunk jumping out of his skin.

Hastily, he shoved the map behind his back, and while the boy was doubled over himself gasping for breath he nudged the belt out of sight, too.

He hadn’t seemed to notice Hunk’s presence, staring down at his lap with a deep frown, though tangled black hair hid his eyes from view. Knuckles were white where they tangled in the blanket, and he was shaking, breathing harshly.

“Um,” Hunk ventured. His hands flung up quickly in front of him in defence as the boy gave a violent startle at the noise and scrambled backwards awkwardly on the bed, a choked shout of surprise erupting from his throat.

Hunk saw a pale hand grapple at the place its knife would normally sit and swallowed nervously.

Knees to his chest and staring Hunk down with wide, confused eyes, the stranger sat frozen, save for his laboured breaths. Hunk mirrored him, stilling, apprehension clawing inside as he tried to remain calm. His palms felt gross and sweaty, heartbeat picking up with a thrum of anxiousness. He cleared his throat.

“Hi,” he greeted, voice a lot steadier than he felt. “My name’s Hunk.”

Silence in response- the boy blinked rapidly at him, looking dazed. His eyes flickered around the tent, shoulders hunching even further to his ears, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. Hunk waited with a dry mouth for him to get his bearings.

“Wh-where am I?” the stranger finally asked, and Hunk winced at his voice. It sounded painful, scratched raw. Deeper than he’d been expecting too, he noted absently.

“Uh, you’re in our camp?” he answered after a beat. He finally lowered his hands but kept his guard up, watching the Marmoran carefully. “We found you out cold by the river.”

At that, the other tensed impossibly further, a coiled spring of guarded agitation. A spark of alarm flashed through dark eyes- pupils darted side to side, trying to see past Hunk. “We?” he croaked out.

Nodding, Hunk made a slow reach for the clean drinking water he’d set aside, not taking his eyes off the person in front of him. The boy bristled slightly, pressing himself further backwards, but made no other move.

“My friend and I,” he elaborated, offering the bowl out. “You were pretty banged up, dude.”

The Marmoran- Marmorite? - glanced between the water and Hunk’s face, deliberating, but stayed stubbornly where he was. Hunk didn’t push it, setting the bowl down at the edge of the bedroll so it was still easily in his reach for when he changed his mind.

There was a rumble from the tent’s entrance, and they both jumped- Hunk whipped his head around to see Yellow poking her nose underneath the tent’s ceiling. She was too big to force her way inside, but she’d probably picked up on his nerves and came to check on him.

He gave her a reassuring wave, smiling. His lion was the best.

Turning back towards the Marmorite, he saw him gaping at Yellow, eyes blown wide open.

Ah, right. Hunk supposed anyone would be a little shell-shocked, seeing her appear out of nowhere like that; she wasn’t exactly the size of a regular lion. “Oh, that’s just Yellow,” Hunk introduced, trying his best to sound unconcerned. “Don’t worry; she won’t bite.”

He got no response. The Marmoran seemed frozen in shock, his gaze fixed on the front of the tent even after Hunk heard Yellow’s footsteps padding away. Hunk cleared his throat awkwardly, unsettled.

“So, uh,” he tried to recapture their attention. “What’s your name?”

Still, he was met with silence. Feeling his nerves creeping back up, Hunk started tapping his hands against his lap, fidgeting.

The boy snapped suddenly out of his stunned condition, turning to look at him with a sharp movement. His eyes narrowed, something insistent glinting dangerously in their depths; Hunk felt himself flinch backwards a startled inch.

“Where’s my knife?” the Marmoran demanded.

_Uh-oh._

“Oh, um- I think I’ll hold onto that for now, if, uh- if that’s cool with you?” Hunk stammered, and wow, his voice wasn’t usually that high-pitched. He coughed into a fist, clearing his throat. “I mean, I wasn’t gonna just leave you out there when you were hurt, but you _are_ still kind of a complete stranger and potentially-violent murderer-slash-crazy-person, so...”

He trailed off, realising how badly he was babbling. Great, okay. Cool.

Thankfully, it barely seemed like the Marmorite was listening. Despite the burning intensity behind his eyes there was something distant about them, unfocused. Like he wasn’t really seeing Hunk despite looking right at him.

He slowly shook his head, the movement becoming erratic as fevered words began tumbling from cracked lips. “No. No, this is all wrong, I have to-” to Hunk’s horror, he threw the blanket aside and started trying to push himself upwards. His limbs were visibly shaking with the strain of the movement, and Hunk lurched forward with hovering hands, panicked and ready to catch the guy should he fall. “I have to keep going. Give me my knife.”

“Woah, slow down!” Hunk urged, moving to place steadying hands on his shoulders. With a choked gasp, the stranger’s arms gave way and he fell heavily back onto the bedroll, pale face twisting in a grimace. He curled up on himself, nursing his injured side with shaking hands.

Hunk gave him a moment to compose himself, watching warily as he breathed through gritted teeth. “Listen,” he urged. “I patched you up best I could, but that bite- it’s bad, man. You’ve got to let it heal before you go taking off anywhere.”

The Marmoran growled in frustration, the noise making Hunk’s stomach swoop with nervousness. He quickly retracted his hands, putting distance between the two of them again. But the guy made no other move to get up, simply glared down at their lap through laboured breaths, eyes glinting.

“No, you don’t- there’s no _time,”_ he rasped. “Red’s out there somewhere, we have to get across the river.”

That made Hunk frown. “What? Why?” he probed, curiosity piqued. His mind flashed back to the map he’d found on the stranger’s belt, but that opened more questions than it answered. “There’s nothing but arid desert out there for miles, dude.”

And who exactly was ‘ _Red?’_

The Marmoran’s breathing had finally regulated somewhat. Hunk saw his hands clench at his sides, and dark eyes flickered away; avoidant. He was unresponsive for a long moment.

“I’m… looking for someone,” he finally relented.

Hunk hummed inquisitively. “Wow, that’s vague,” he said. He felt around behind him for the map and held it up between them. “Does it have anything to do with this weird map?”

Head snapping upwards, the Marmoran’s mouth dropped open as he registered what Hunk had.

“Wh- _hey_! Give that back!” he stuttered, his voice cracking in outrage. Hunk didn’t bother resisting when the map was snatched out of his grasp with a clumsy swipe. “Did you seriously go through all my stuff?!” the Marmoran accused, clutching the parchment close to his chest with both hands.

“I have a curious personality,” Hunk shrugged, weathering the dark glower sent his way. He meekly held out the map’s container as well, and it too was snatched up with a grumble.

There was a period of awkwardness as the Marmoran avoided his gaze, frowning down at the parchment like he was checking for damage. Hunk tapped his fingers together in a nervous rhythm, the silence weighted.

“So… Marmora, huh?” he tried, but was met with zero acknowledgement. The only thing breaking the uncomfortable quiet was the crinkle of paper as, seemingly satisfied that it was in one piece, he started rolling the map back up. Hunk cleared his throat. “You’ve come a long way.”

Once more, there was no response; the Marmoran slid the rolled-up map back into its capsule.

Hunk was effectively being given the cold shoulder, then. _Rude._

“Aw, c’mon man, I bandaged your wounds!” he pressed. “Nursed you back to semi-health! You won’t even tell me your name?”

He flinched at the pointed _click_ of the capsule snapping shut. The stranger turned to give Hunk an unimpressed look, lips thinned in a tight line.

Hunk sighed, slumping in resignation; it looked like he wasn’t getting anything out of him, then. That was fine. It would make the next few days kind of awkward, he guessed, but he could deal.

He made to stand up, about to ask the other if he was up to eating something, when a hesitant voice made him pause.

“… It’s Keith.”

Hunk looked back up and was met with dark eyes, regarding him with careful consideration. The Marmoran had relaxed somewhat, though there was still a taut line of caution in his shoulders. He held the map’s capsule close to his chest, quietly watching for Hunk’s reaction.

Satisfied that question number one had been answered, Hunk smiled and settled himself back down. “Well, nice to meet you, Keith of the mountains,” he said pleasantly.

Keith frowned at him. “Just Keith,” he corrected, tone flat.

“Right,” Hunk brushed him off. “So, you said you were looking for someone- what happened to them?” Seeing Keith sharply inhale at the question, he quickly tacked on, “Uh, if you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

There was a weighted pause where Keith seemed to debate with himself whether to answer, gaze shying away to stare down at his lap. Fingers tightened their grip around the map with whitening knuckles. He swallowed thickly, clearing his throat.

“My friend, Shiro,” he started, voice faint and shaking. “A couple months back, he was- he went missing. Taken.”

“Taken? By who?” Hunk questioned, feeling a stab of sympathy tighten his chest. “Who would wanna mess with the Marmora like that?”

If the tribe really were anything like the stories told about them, then they were _not_ the kind of guys he could imagine anyone picking on- let alone abducting.

Keith seemed to frown at his words, wavering. “Shiro’s not exactly- never mind,” he cut himself off, shaking his head slightly.

Not exactly what? Not part of the Marmora?

Huh, so maybe they weren’t as reclusive and cut-off from other tribes as Hunk had thought.

Keith’s tone grew a dark edge to it as he continued, a grim look shadowing his face. “It was someone powerful,” he said, words clipped and body curling in on himself another inch. Hunk felt a shiver run through him at the ominous shift.

“A witch,” Keith forced out, jaw tightening. “Haggar.”

Hunk blinked. “A witch,” he echoed flatly. Maybe he’d misheard?

Keith’s frown deepened, and there was a defensive spark in the heated look he sent back. “Look, you don’t have to believe me,” he said in a rush, impatience burning his already hoarse voice. His grip on the map tightened further. “I just- I have to get him back. That’s why I’ve _got_ to get across the river!”

He hadn’t misheard, then. Keith honest to god thought that a witch was responsible for his friend’s disappearance. He let that sink in for a moment before forcibly pushing it aside, ignoring the flood of questions that were steadily building up on the back of his tongue.

From Keith’s urgent words he got the feeling the other wasn’t interested in trying to convince him of anything or debate over the stranger details of his story anyway. He just seemed adamant about continuing onwards with the journey he’d planned to take, and that was worrying enough that Hunk forced himself to gloss over the _witch_ detail for now.

He cleared his throat lightly.

“No offense,” he started, tone careful. “But do you really expect to find him out that way?” he glanced pointedly at the map in Keith’s hands. “You… you know Altea is just a legend, right?”

He had to know. Every child had heard the story of the lost city of Altea; how it and its people had disappeared seemingly overnight. One day it had been standing strong and proud, and the next, passing travellers were left lost and confused when they came across nothing but an empty landscape.

The story had always fascinated Hunk- Altea was said to have been blessed by the Gods, their technology and artisanal expertise far more advanced than anything Hunk was familiar with, even though it was probably more than a hundred years ago that they’d vanished- but that’s all that it had ever been; a story. One he’d heard told not just within his own tribe, but also repeated by the Balmerans and Olkari the times he’d travelled alongside his family to trade supplies.

Apparently, the Marmora had a different understanding of the tale.

Keith gritted his teeth, gave a short shake of his head in denial. “It’s not a legend,” he said firmly. “It’s real- or it was. The map, it- I think it’ll lead me to someone who can help me find Shiro.” Keith had looked up again to meet Hunk’s gaze while he was speaking. His eyes were bright with something vehement and _desperate._

“I have to get there,” he said, voice strained with emotion. “ _Please-”_

“Okay, okay- calm down,” Hunk held his hands up in a pacifying gesture, trying to ease the Marmoran’s frantic state. Keith was burning with barely-suppressed restlessness, like he was seconds away from trying to get up and leave again. And in his current condition, that wouldn’t lead to anything good.

“Look,” Hunk said, “I still don’t really get it. Like, what would a witch want with your friend anyway? And since were witches, like, a real thing?” He shook his head; not important right now, he just needed to get this guy to _stay put._ “Doesn’t matter, never mind- my point is, if following that map is really what you want to do, I can’t stop you. But wait a few days, at least.”

Keith opened his mouth to argue, but Hunk cut him off with a sharply-raised finger. “Nope!” he chastised. “You know I’m right. There’s no _way_ you’ll make it far the way you are- it’d be suicide.”

To his relief, Keith seemed to slump slightly, some of the spring-to-action tension draining out of his posture. A flicker of agitation crossed his face, and he swallowed thickly.

“I shouldn’t,” he said, hesitant. “Shiro-” he never finished the thought, the map dropping to his lap as he brought a clumsy arm up to cough harshly into the crook of his elbow.

Hunk leant forward to offer a steadying hand between the Marmoran’s shoulder blades. Keith’s face was screwed up in pain as the coughs petered out, his other hand clutching weakly at his injured side. Even as he caught his breath, Hunk could feel the tremors that wracked his body.

Yeah, that pretty much just cemented his point for him.

“Please, stay here,” Hunk implored him. “Just until the fever passes.”

Breathing harshly through the pain, Keith said nothing for a while as he glared down at his lap. He dropped the hand that was holding his side, and Hunk watched fingers curl tightly around the capsule once more.

Finally, the last of the Marmoran’s fire seemed to, at least for now, subside. The last of the fight left him in an exhausted exhale of breath, shoulders sagging in tired resignation. Hunk heard him make a noise of frustration, a growl that hitched a in his throat.

“Fine,” Keith bit out, voice cracked and splintered but still simmering with agitated restlessness.

“Thanks,” Hunk breathed, relieved. “Whew, that makes me feel a lot better!” The other said nothing to that. He just crossed his arms petulantly across his chest and gave his lap a fierce pout that had Hunk struggling to hold back a laugh. He smiled slightly at the surprising display.

Keith really wasn’t that scary after all, huh? So much for battle-hardened mountain assassins.

He knew that the Marmoran wouldn’t stay still for long- Hunk had the feeling he should be incredibly relieved he got him to agree to even this much. For now though, he lets himself relax with the knowledge that this guy wasn’t about to run off to his death the moment Hunk turned his back.

He had no idea why Keith was so desperate to get across the river; even if his map really _did_ lead to the fabled Altea, surely at most all he’d find would be piles of ruins and rubble. Hunk couldn’t imagine there’d be anything there- let alone any _one-_ that could help him find his missing friend.

And then of course, there was that whole business with the witch. He couldn’t have actually been talking about the magic-slinging, spell-chanting, cackling-around-a-bubbling-cauldron type of witch, right? That seemed too farfetched to be in any way believable, and even from what little Hunk knew of him, Keith didn’t seem the type to believe in such fantasies.

 _Someone powerful,_ Keith had said. _Haggar._

For whatever reason, the name sent a shiver of fear ghosting over his skin.

Hunk was dying to poke at the topic some more, curiosity urging him to see how far he could push at Keith’s tight-lipped walls. Maybe now the other had agreed to stay put for a bit and wasn’t insistently hurrying to get up and leave, Hunk would have a chance to press him for more details.

Later, though. For now, what Keith needed most was rest. And also…

“Hey, you hungry?” he asked, and Keith’s pout dropped as he turned to catch Hunk’s eye. “I make a mean stew.”

The other boy perked up instantly, a gleam of interest sparking in his dark eyes. Hunk gave him a warm smile. It was always exciting, cooking for someone new for the first time.

An hour later, Keith had ravenously devoured a full bowl of vegetable stew, even going so far as to shamelessly lick out the last dredges at the bottom. Hunk watched him with a beaming grin, nursing his own steaming bowl, and decided then and there that they’d made the right choice in bringing the Marmoran back to camp with them. He was already starting to like Keith a lot.

No one who enjoyed his cooking that much could be all that bad, he thought. 

 

*

 

The next day, Hunk went out to the vegetable patch to collect some carrots for dinner. He kept it a little way down the dirt track outside their camp, nestled in the shade of a small stack of boulders and overhanging branches.

The garden was his pride and joy, however temporary it might have been; a pet project he’d undertaken when he’d discovered Lance planned to extend their time away from home for a lot longer than first anticipated.

Hunk hadn’t minded terribly at the time; he missed his family, of course, and the more familiar landscape of home- no matter how much it was changing as of late. But Lance was his best friend, and he’d stick with him through thick and thin.

This was important to Lance- that meant it was important to Hunk, too.

When they’d left, their families had given them a generous amount of grain, plucked fresh from what was left of the fields and packed away in cloth sacks. Lance was the better hunter out of the two of them and would sometimes go out with Blue a few hours before sunset fell, returning with smaller catches slung over his shoulder. Hunk appreciated the meat, but it was always a pain trying to keep Yellow out from under his feet while preparing it. Properly smoking and salting the meat so it would keep took time, and the lion was always eager to sneak a bite or two when Hunk wasn’t looking.

But Hunk had been longing for something other than hard bread and cured meat. He’d always loved cooking, and all the steps that went into it. It helped clear his head, applying himself to a step-by-step task that he knew by heart. It was familiar. Comforting.

There was something about gardening in particular that settled his nerves. Planting roots into soil helped steady his own two feet on the earth when they faltered in tough times. When he had dirt caked under his nails, lining the creases in his hands, he felt strangely connected to the world. Somehow, it helped soothe the restless buzzing under his skin, the anxiety racing a mile a minute in his mind.

The day they’d left, Hunk’s ma had taken him aside, and wiping tears out of her eyes, pushed a small threaded pouch into the palm of his hand.

“Just in case you’re gone a while,” she’d said through a watery smile. “Keep yourself fed properly.”

Opening the bag up had unveiled a handful of seeds- carrots, onions, tomatoes and leeks; a selection of woody herbs and legumes, and some small potatoes sprouting with shoots.  

He’d kept the gift close to him, waiting for a lapse in their travelling that would grant him opportunity to start planting.

It had come shortly after they’d set up camp where they currently were; usually, the lions would start getting restless after the first week of scouting, and that would be their cue to move on. After almost two weeks in this one spot, though, they had seemed strangely reluctant to wander off. Almost like they were waiting for something.

 _Or someone,_ Hunk thought to himself as he made his way down the path. He discarded the idea with a small laugh- there was no way they could have possibly known Keith was coming.

Yellow had trailed behind him, following at an ambling pace. She’d been acting twitchy all afternoon- pawing at the ground here and there with raised shackles, sniffing at the stalks of plants with ears flattened against her head. Nervous.

Hunk had tried to soothe her, but she wouldn’t pay him any mind except to butt her head against his side, a low rumbling in her throat. Almost like she was trying to usher him back towards camp. Tutting at her in admonishment, he’d merely given her nose a comforting rub before continuing down the path.

Arriving at the garden, Yellow had taken up a stern vigil by the edge of the path, pacing back and forth along the tree line and making worried keening noises. The fur on her massive shoulders was bristled, puffed up in a way that was almost amusing.

“Man, what is _with_ you, today?” he muttered as he knelt down in the soil, watching her out of the corner of his eye with an exasperated huff.

It wasn’t until he turned back towards his garden with an outstretched hand that he realised something was wrong.

The soil- which has been rich and healthy last week, well-maintained via Hunk’s dutiful watering- was dark gray, almost black. Hardened and stained with smoke-like markings. Fine cracks ran through the earth, spider-webbing from where his vegetables sprouted from the ground and turning his neat rows into disarray.

The leaves themselves were still green, though Hunk noted with a sinking heart that they were less perky than the last he’d checked the garden- drooping sadly, brown and brittle around the edges. Dying. He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

And that’s when the smell hit him- the odour of something dark and acrid, seeping into the air around him and raising goosebumps on his skin.

Dread pooled in his gut, and with a shaking hand he grabbed the yellowing sprout of a carrot and pulled.

Immediately the stench had him reeling backwards, and he choked on a cough as the vile smell crawled over his skin. The things he’d pulled from the ground were black and dripping with rot, pale strings of what once were roots dangling sickly in putrid clumps. It was like these things had been left in the ground for months, rather than days.

Yellow’s thin growl was suddenly by his ear, and Hunk jumped in anxious surprise. His lion sounded stressed, big paws kneading the blackened earth with trepidation. She nudged Hunk’s shoulder from behind, insistently nosing at him with fretful grunts.

“Yeah,” he told her, eyeing over the rest of his beloved garden with a heavy heart and a sick, tangled web of anxiety building in his chest. “I kinda wanna get out of here, too.”

He kept one hand on Yellow’s flank the entire walk back, fingers buried loosely in her fur. The other hand held the ruined carrots in a tightly-clenched fist. Paying closer attention to the trees and the grass, he noted with a saddened pang that the ground surrounding everything shared the same blackened, cracking soil as his garden; an oil spill of mysterious pollution staining the soil at the roots. A dark feeling hung in the air like a shadow, a hot breeze rustling through bare branches. Ominous, raising the hair on the back of Hunk’s neck.

He’d seen this kind of devastation before.

When he and Yellow made it back to camp, Lance was lounging against Blue’s side by the entrance to the tent, watching the afternoon sky with a thoughtful look on his face. Glancing past him to the bedroll inside, he could see a dark mop of hair that was Keith passed out in sleep.

Hunk stopped short in front of his friend, wordlessly brandishing the rotted vegetables in front of him.

Lance recoiled backwards with a shout, turning away from the blackened mess dangling in his face. “Holy _hell,”_ he cursed, gagging, and brought a hand up to cover his nose. “Hunk, I love you dearly, but if you honestly expect me to eat… _whatever_ those things are, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“ _These things_ ,” he huffed, giving the roots a frustrated little shake, “are the carrots I was going to put in the stew tonight.” One of the carrots split in two at the jostling, and they watched the broken piece fall to the dirt with a sad _splat._

Lance stared at it for a few lingering seconds, lowering his hand from his face. He looked grim. He reached behind him to tangle his fingers absent-mindedly in Blue’s fur. “But- but they were _fine_ when you picked them last week,” he said.

They had been; Hunk had used the carrots that he’d picked then in the stew from the previous night.

“Yeah, well now the whole garden is caput,” Hunk said, tossing the dead plants to the side and crossing his arms. “And Yellow really didn’t like being around it, either.” As if to emphasise her assent, the big lion walked up to tower beside him, pushing herself between Hunk and the discarded vegetables. She nudged him with her head, a worried trill rumbling from her throat. He reached out a hand and rubbed the bridge of her nose, consoling. “There, there, buddy,” he cooed. “The big nasty carrots can’t hurt me now.”

He turned back to face Lance, eyebrows furrowed with anxiety. “Man, it was so weird though- like something’s sucked the life out of everything.” Eyes flickering downwards, his stomach sunk like a stone had been dropped in it. “Just like…” he trailed off,

Lance was apparently on the same sombre page. “Just like back home,” he finished, voice subdued and a forlorn distance in his gaze. “Yeah.” His hands clenched into fists by his sides.

A weighted pause. Hunk knew they were both thinking of the same thing, hearts heavy. He worried his bottom lip, nervousness knotting in his chest. Toeing the dirt into tiny mounds with the toe of his shoe, he kept his eyes trained on the ground. “Lance,” he said, cautiously. “You know what I’m going to say.”

He watched as Lance narrowed his eyes, shoulders setting with a familiar stubborn line. Rigid. “No,” he gritted out, frustration burning hotly in his words. “No, we’re not going back. Not yet; not empty-handed.”

Hunk sighed, feeling heavy. They’d had this conversation before, and it never ended any differently. He understood that Lance wanted to help, but it was becoming more and more obvious that the solution wasn’t out here.

Lance couldn’t admit that, though. He wanted so desperately to prove himself, to keep an impossible promise and save what had been lost. He’d keep pushing and _pushing_ at this until they hit a dead end and had no straws left to grasp at. Hunk could see the inevitable burnout from a mile away, and he didn’t think there was anything he could do to shield Lance from his own stubborn determination.

All Hunk wanted was to protect the things he still had. That included Lance.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Hunk said, hands fidgeting at his sides. Lance had started glaring at the ground by his feet, eyes hard. “I know you were hoping to find answers. But if whatever this is has spread this far already, I really don’t think there’s anywhere left to look.” He waved a vague hand in the air, feeling guilty.

It’s not like he wanted to discourage Lance- he just didn’t want to watch his friend keep fruitlessly trying to salvage something out of this complete deadlock they were in. There was simply no point in wasting any more energy out here, scouting around the barely-traversed edges of their territory for more lasting resources, or trying to sniff out the source of whatever was poisoning their land.

“We need help, man,” Hunk said. All he could think about was how far from home they’d wandered. The grasslands seemed endless, the heat endlessly stifling. “We can’t solve this on our own.”

Lance was quiet for a long moment, eyes downcast in thought. The air between them felt tight with tension, Hunk waiting for his friend to say anything in response.

He wanted to see his tribe again; longed for the days of helping collect grain from their fields, and gardening with his mother. Sunbathing on the rocks by the river and watching Yellow and Blue play in the tall grass.

He wanted to protect his tribe however he could, but their endless searching had pulled up one too many empty results, one too many blackened roots that offered the same pressing questions over and over but never any _answers_. Hunk was tired, and terrified in the face of the rapidly dying world. Shadows prowled not just in the night these days, but as the flickering signs of hopelessness and doubt growing at the back of his mind. He was desperate for something to _give_ already.

But Lance was his best friend, and if he wouldn’t give this endeavour up then Hunk absolutely refused to leave him alone in it. That was the one thing he was certain of; no matter what, he’d stick by Lance’s side.

Lance’s shoulders loosened as he released a breath, tension draining from a decision reached. “I promised my family I’d make them proud,” he said. “I’m not just gonna give up and pack it in now.”

Hunk felt his stomach sink in disappointment. Lance looked up with wide, imploring eyes and that familiar, admirable, _infuriating,_ gleam of determination bright in their depths.

“There’s _gotta_ be somewhere we haven’t looked yet. Something we haven’t found,” he said. He stood up, brushing dirt of the skirt of his tunic and facing Hunk with his hands pressed into fists. Blue followed her companion, stretching languidly and brushing her tail over the confident set of Lance’s shoulders as she circled him. Lance shot him a tight smile, the barely-there crease in his brow the tell that let Hunk know he wasn’t as sure of this as he wanted to be.

“I’m gonna fix this, Hunk,” he said. Then he turned on the spot, and disappeared out of the camp and down the trail, Blue padding in his wake. He let him go, figuring Lance probably needed some space to sort through his thoughts. Hunk didn’t doubt he’d also gone to poke around the dead garden, trying to dig up answers that were never there.

He let the silence ring in Lance’s wake for an uncomfortable minute longer, watching Yellow clean her front paws. Releasing the weary sigh that had wormed its guilty way into his chest, he tried to push down the bubbling frustration fraying at his nerves.

He missed home so much, felt the ache of longing more and more keenly with every sunset that passed.

But where Lance went, Hunk would follow.

That much, he had sworn.

 

**

 

The rest of the day, and the one that followed, proceeded largely uneventfully. His and Hunk’s conversation burnt at the back of Lance’s mind, and it caused a strain as he went about his business. Blue stuck closer to his side than usual, sensing the distress that faltered his movements, had his mind caught in a circle of frustration and niggling guilt.

He knew Hunk was restless; Lance was too. But the thought of walking back to their tribe, shame-faced, after he’d left _promising_ to find some kind of solution… it was unbearable.

This was his chance to do something great, something that would help the tribe and prove to his family- his parents, his older siblings, _everyone-_ that he was someone special. So, he’d keep going, keep searching until he found some answers for why the savanna- which had supported his tribe and other tribes before them for hundreds of years- had suddenly started failing them.

(He tried not to think about how the longer he stayed away from home, the more it felt like he was hiding from a promise he couldn’t keep.)

They didn’t leave of any more scouting ventures; the tension of having another person in the camp grounded them closer to the fire-pit, not wanting to risk straying too far from safety when too many _unknowns_ were rearing their ugly heads.

Very ugly heads, in Keith’s case.

Lance didn’t know how the guy put up with all that hair. He supposed it was different in the cooler climates of the mountains. But having endured the sweltering summers of the grasslands his whole life, Lance couldn’t bear to imagine walking about with long hair that clung to the back of his neck the way Keith’s did. Gross.

Keith’s dumb hair wasn’t the only thing that bothered him, though. As the days crept on, the dragging heat and the unfamiliarity of the strange situation stewed uncomfortably together, building up a nervous energy that resulted in everyone’s strings pulled tight. Feeling snappish and stressed, it was becoming increasingly evident from their few passing interactions alone that Keith and Lance… did not get along.

When Hunk had relayed the info he’d pulled from the newcomer from the night he’d woken up, Lance had outright laughed and only felt mildly guilty about it. Sure, it sucked that the guy’s friend had gone missing- but Lance hadn’t heard about the tale of the missing city since he was a kid around the campfire, listening to the elders spin stories of witches and magic and other ridiculous things.

They could indulge in bedtime stories all they wanted, but all Lance knew as truth was that the land was far less forgiving than it used to be. He didn’t have time for fantasy, not anymore. Not for a long time, now.

Ridiculous stories aside, Lance had a plethora of other issues with the Marmoran that made it difficult to like the guy.

Keith was _grouchy._

Maybe it was made worse by his sickness; Lance had only heard about the injury second-hand from Hunk, but from what his friend had told him it had been _bad._ That much was obvious from the way Keith’s face would twist into a pained grimace every time he moved.

Still. Lance was not a person who held an abundance of patience, and dealing with the Marmoran and his wild moods had dried up his shallow well of the stuff within the first twenty minutes of meeting him. Keith had the temperament of a rattlesnake, alongside a stubborn independence so obstinate it was like trying to pry conversation from a rock.

Simply- _infuriatingly_ \- Keith refused to be cared for.

“Keith, Hunk made lunch; you gotta eat something,” Lance would say, trying his best to sound all bedside-mannerly.

“Not hungry,” Keith would grunt back, and then proceeded to completely ignore Lance’s further attempts to annoy him into eating. He’d just cross his arms, and glower down into his lap.

Or; “Keith, Hunk said he can fix your shirt if you give it to him,”

Not even pausing to look at him, Keith replied with a curt, “it’s fine.” Lance had just glanced down at the ruined mess of his tunic, torn fabric stained with blood and crusty with mud, and screwed his face up in disgust.

“Gross, dude,” he’d said. “We have a spare shirt you can borrow, you know.”

“I said, it’s fine!” Keith had snapped, turning his glare on Lance. He’d just thrown his hands up in defeat and rolled his eyes, leaving him to his brooding.

(The day after that though, Keith’s clothes had been cleaned and the holes in his tunic sewn up; Hunk was having slightly more luck, it seemed, so apparently Keith just had it out for Lance in particular. What a jerk.)

One incident after lunch, Lance had been sitting inside the tent whittling some new arrow heads while waiting for Blue to come back from her hunt.

“You’re doing that wrong,” Keith had chimed in, and Lance had ground his teeth together and willed himself not to rise to the bait Keith was obviously trying to set. “You’re gonna cut yourself.”

“How about you cut your yapping!” Lance shot back, hot with indignation.

Utterly insufferable. Though it was very satisfying when the Marmoran’s heated glare was cut short by a long string of gross, chesty coughs, Lance still couldn’t quite stand to be in the tent alone with the guy after that.

(Seriously- he’d been hunting and making his own arrows for _years._ So maybe he wasn’t a freaking prodigy at it like his older brother was, so what?! He knew what he was doing and didn’t need or _want_ Keith’s crummy advice.)

It was made all the more infuriating by the fact that Keith was a total stranger; Hunk and Lance had risked a lot by bringing him back with them. They could have played it safe and left the knife-wielding mountain assassin where they’d found him to shrivel up under the sun. Or be eaten by the shadows, whichever came first.

Keith had Hunk’s good heart to thank for being alive right then, along with his friend’s uncanny ability to tap into Lance’s small reserve of sympathy for injured strangers-slash-potential-threats. That dumb mullet-head should have been acting _grateful;_ all grovelling and teary-eyed thank-yous, and composing poems of appreciation expressing the debt he owed his rescuers.

Instead, Lance got sullen silences and impatient demands- ‘Take me across the river, Lance! Let me go and look for my big dumb cat who probably doesn’t exist, Lance! Lance, I have to go follow this bogus map to find my friend who was abducted by a witch!’

Yeah, the fact that Keith was probably just a _little_ off his rocker wasn’t exactly gaining him any brownie points. For all Lance knew, this _Shiro_ had just gotten turned around in the mountains somewhere and was currently huddled in a cave, trying to keep warm.

Oh yeah, there was also the Lion Thing.

Hunk had somehow managed to engage Keith more than once in something resembling conversation, and him being Hunk- aka shamelessly nosy, bless him- had pressed the Marmoran relentlessly for details until he'd caved. He’d told Hunk about this so-called _Red,_ a lion like Blue and Yellow who had travelled with Keith from the mountains and gotten separated from him during the attack that left Keith injured.

Which was obviously a lie; there _was_ no other lion like Blue and Yellow. They were the best, the coolest, the _biggest_ lions ever, so there. Giant lions weren’t exactly common, last time Lance had checked!

Well, there was Green, Lance supposed. But Green was big and cool and super special too, even if he didn’t know her as well.

Yeah, anyway, Keith was probably just jealous of Blue and wanted an awesome lion companion of his own, so he’d made up Red to try and upstage Lance.

(Yes, this was a perfectly reasonable explanation. No, Lance was not trying to avoid the fact that if Red was real and Keith also had a lion like theirs, there was no way that finding him the way they had was simply chance.)

Lance didn’t like the way he looked at Blue. More than once he’d caught Keith staring at her with an intense frown on his face, contemplative and _knowing-_ it didn’t sit well with him at all, something fiercely protective lighting up his nerves and ending up more than once with him snapping at Keith, bristling with suspicion.

For the most part, despite how much it had his shoulders tensing with wariness, he let it slide-only because Blue herself didn’t seem bothered by the attention. On the contrary, often Lance would see her staring right back at the newcomer, sharp yellow eyes just as searching.

Keith always caved first, looking away with a tight frown and fidgeting awkwardly in his makeshift bed. Fully aware how petty it was, Lance never bothered to suppress the smug smile that pulled from him. Hell yeah, take that, Keith! His girl was the _queen_ of weird, unsettling staring contests.

Honestly, if it was anyone other than himself and Hunk that had to deal with this, he’d actually find it pretty funny. Keith’s whole grumpy-teenager persona didn’t exactly line up with the dark, mysterious Marmoran warrior he’d been expecting. It helped to soften the blow whenever Keith would do something _particularly_ annoying, like when Lance had gone to bring him lunch once and caught him trying to sneak out and look for his dumb not-real cat by himself.

(Keith’s legs had given way when Lance was forcing him back to the tent; Lance would never admit how much it had caused his heartrate to spike, nor how close of an eye he’d kept on Keith for the rest of that day.)

“He’s the worst,” Lance complained to Hunk on the third night while pacing a trench around the fire. “I don’t know how you can stand to be so buddy-buddy with him.”

Poking at the meat that sat skewered over the fire, Hunk nodded absently. “Uh-huh,” he said. “Pass me those herbs?”

Without faltering his agitated pacing, Lance handed over a wrapped bunch of dried herbs with a smoky scent from Hunk’s collected pile of ingredients. “I mean, the guy probably doesn’t even know what ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ mean,” he grumbled, throwing hands up in the air in a wild gesture. “And does he ever look at Yellow the way he’s been looking at Blue? It’s creepy! So creepy, Hunk!”

“Aw, Lance, he’s not so bad,” Hunk said, carefully taking the meat off the fire. “He’s probably just a bit stir-crazy. Besides, he’ll be all healed up soon and then Keith will be on his way; you’ll never have to see him again!”

Lance finally stilled, slumping downwards next to Hunk with a dramatic huff. He rested his elbows on his legs, and his gaze fell on where Blue and Yellow were curled up on the opposite side of the fire; Blue had a front paw draped over Yellow’s neck and was cleaning behind her friend’s ears with slow strokes of her tongue, eyes drooping.

He sighed. A frustrated speck of worry he would never admit to niggled in the back of his mind.

Keith didn’t look like he _was_ getting better. On the contrary, the sporadic handful of times Lance had been in the tent since they’d met that second day, Keith had looked a lot like he was getting progressively worse.

Lance might not _like_ the guy much, but they’d taken him in when he was hurt. And while he was recovering, Lance couldn’t help but feel that Keith was, to a certain extent, their responsibility. He didn’t think he could take it if someone under their care didn’t pull through.

The idea alone made his stomach drop.

That disturbing thought in mind, he’d walked into the tent on the fourth evening after Keith’s arrival- a little before sunset- with a bowl of clean water and the intention of helping change his bandages. Hunk was out collecting more water from the reservoir and would be back any minute, but at that moment it was just Lance and Blue alone with the Marmoran.

Hunk had been putting up with Lance’s stubbornness going on four months, now; the least he could do was lend a hand playing nurse to their infuriating, nonsensical guest. That was the only reason he was bothering to do this, not at all because he was _worried_ about _Keith._ Yuck.

Except when Lance pulled back the flap of the tent and ducked inside he faltered, stunned into staring incomprehensibly at the Keith-shaped vacancy he saw on the bed. The sheet was pushed back in a heap, thrown aside in someone’s hasty attempts at getting up.

“What the hell,” Lance muttered to the empty tent, searching with his eyes for any place their bedridden visitor could have disappeared to. Not like there was a lot of places to hide away in here, though.

He’d just gotten on a good roll with the ensuing panic attack- maybe Keith had finally run out of tolerance for sitting around and made a run for it. Gone to the river and _drowned himself like an idiot_ trying to cross over. Oh no, that’s exactly what’s happened, isn’t it?! Oh no, _oh no_ \- when he was interrupted by someone abruptly calling out, startling him. The shout had come from the distance, somewhere outside the tent.

Spinning on his heel, Lance rushed back the way he’d come, chasing after the ruckus.

 _“Red!”_ A silhouette stood beside the rocky outcrop, hands cupped to their mouth and calling out into the open plains beyond. _“Reeeed!”_

Lance winced at the noise- _Christ,_ Keith was loud.

“Oi!” he called, rushing forward and grabbing Keith by the elbow. Spinning him around to face him, Lance scanned the horizon with wary eyes before turning his glare downwards to the other. “What the hell are you doing?!”

Keith winced at the jostling, bringing a hand up to cup his side. He swayed a little on his feet. “What does it look like?” He groused, and turned back around, leaving Lance to gape at his back, infuriated at the snub. “ _RED! WHERE ARE Y-mmph”_

Lance slammed a palm over Keith’s mouth mid-cry, cutting him off. “Will you pipe down?” he snapped, feeling the ghost of alarm flare in his chest.

He knew he was being paranoid- there was nothing who’s attention Keith would’ve attracted that didn’t already know they were here- but years of learning to be cautious come sundown had instilled a healthy dose of caution in him. If you asked him, it was always best to lay low and keep quiet once the sunlight started to fade.

Keith was doing a _stunning_ job of shattering Lance’s rule to smithereens. He tore away from Lance, batting the hand away from his mouth with an agitated glower.

“You don’t understand,” he implored, voice cracking with weariness and a frail desperation. “She’s out there, I can _feel_ her, I just- I need to find her.” He held Lance’s gaze for a pleading moment, something harrowing burning in his eyes. Lance took in the sunken, pale look of Keith’s face, the minute shivering in his shoulders. Despite himself, he felt his annoyance soften.

 _Just_ a smidge.

He sighed as Keith looked away and turned his back, resuming his shouting. Crossing his arms, Lance considered what the best way to convince this idiot to go lie down was, short of dragging him kicking and fussing by his mullet.

He was saved the trouble; halfway through calling out Red’s name for the umpteenth time. Keith’s voice caught. He doubled over with a fist to his mouth, body wracked in a string of rattling, hacking coughs.

Lance reached a hand out and gave Keith’s back a couple of consoling pats. “Gross, dude,” he said, wincing.

Keith tried to level him with another glare from under his bangs, but the heat of it was lessened with the pinpricks of pain pooled in the corners of his eyes- even more so when he convulsed and promptly became lost in a second wave of coughing.

As they finally petered out, Keith was left hunched in on himself and shivering, fingers splayed loosely over his injured side as he tried to regain his breath.

Lance tutted, feeling a pang of sudden sympathy; Keith looked utterly miserable, swaying on his feet like he was seconds from falling over. Steadying him with a careful hand on his upper arm, Lance gently steered the boy away from the edge of camp and back towards their tent.

“Come on, Mullet,” Lance grumbled half-heartedly. “It’s about time we did something about those bandages.”

Keith grunted and shook off his hand. “I can walk by myself,” he grated out.

Lance took a deep breath and tried to snuff out the flare of annoyance. If Keith was this much of a pain in his ass while he was this sick, he hated to think about how insufferable he’d be at full strength.

Blue was dozing just outside the tent, and she flicked her ear at him in greeting when he reached out to give her head a distracted scratch. Lance led them both inside, directing Keith to sit on the edge of his bed and awkwardly asking him to take off his shirt. Hands fumbling, Keith complied.

With clinical movements, Lance unravelled the bandages around Keith’s middle, letting them coil in a heap on the bed. As more of his bare skin was uncovered, it became increasingly obvious that Keith was _radiating_ heat. Concern clenched in Lance’s stomach.

 _Fever’s still up,_ he thought, grim. _He isn’t getting better._

The last of the bandages fell away, and Lance snapped his hands back, recoiling in horror. Blue looked up slowly, peering into the tent and letting out a low, nervous growl.

The wound looked terrible. Keith’s side was a blackened mess, veiny tendrils of virulent infection marring the skin around the bite. Charcoal scratches on white parchment.

Lance forcibly swallowed the bile in his throat, let out a shaky breath. “Oh no,” he muttered, dread pooling in his veins. He reached a hand up and rested the back of it against Keith’s forehead, barely receiving a flinch in response. Oh _no._

Keith was _boiling_ under his touch _._

It wasn’t just that he wasn’t getting better- he was getting _worse._  

He was staring despondently at the dirt by his feet, hunched over slightly with a dazed look clouding his eyes. Blinking slowly, looking distant and pained, he barely seemed to register Lance’s panic.

“What’re y’doing?” he slurred. “What’s wrong?

Lance retracted his hand, taking a few deep breaths that did nothing to calm his racing heart, the feeling of urgency that crept under his skin. “Not sure yet,” he said shortly, trying to sound composed.

The sound of heavy footsteps came from outside- Hunk, returning from the river. He called out to his friend, tapping his hand anxiously against his leg as he listened to Hunk jump down from Yellow’s back and make his way to the tent.

Ducking under the entrance and taking in the sight in front of him, Hunk’s face immediately fell. His eyes widened in shock and crushing recognition.

“Oh, no,” he echoed Lance, voice lined with quiet horror. “That- that’s not good.”

Lance pushed himself up to a stand, thinking. Keith was looking dazedly back and forth between them, a tight frown creasing his sweaty forehead. He opened his mouth to ask what was happening, but the attempt was aborted by another cruel coughing fit that had him curling in on himself in pain.

“Lance we can’t- we don’t have medicine for that,” Hunk fretted, gesturing vaguely in Keith’s direction. Fear and guilt made his voice waver, and they could hear Yellow pacing outside with a worried keen at her companion’s distress.

Lance gritted his teeth. Tension coiled in his shoulders as he realised their only option.

“We don’t,” he said, taking a steadying breath. “But I know who does.”

He clenched his fists, steeling himself- it’d mean he’d have to abandon his mission, for at least a week, if not more. The last thing he wanted to do was put the promise he’d made on hold; guilt churned in his stomach from just the thought. But…

Keith coughed weakly again, his breathing laboured and shoulders trembling. He was dying, and Lance wasn’t about to let someone suffer this fate when he might be able to put a stop to it. Not on his watch.

“Hunk,” he said, looking up and meeting his friend’s pained eyes with resolve. “I think it’s time to pay Pidge a visit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay uploading these, AO3 is giving me a lot of grief. My current method of fixing the issue is "keep clicking post until something other than an error message happens". This is not very effective, obviously.
> 
> [Artist's tumblr](http://lidoshka.tumblr.com/post/176045829475/pride-by-lionswaps-ao3-link-here-lance-really)
> 
>  
> 
> [My tumblr](http://lionswaps.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Once more, compilation of all the art for this story can be found at Lidoshka's tumblr [Here.](http://lidoshka.tumblr.com/post/176045829475/pride-by-lionswaps-ao3-link-here-lance-really) While you're there, go check out her other Voltron art; it's a delight <3
> 
> I'm on tumblr [@lionswaps](https://lionswaps.tumblr.com/)  
> Edit: Having some problems with ao3 and uploading the other chapters rn ;__; I'll sort it out asap


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